


Grimm Tidings

by KaseyBeth



Category: Grimm
Genre: Angst, Blood, Everyone thinks he is crazy, Family, Grimm - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Like Truble, Nick doesn't know he is a Grimm, Poor Nick, Posted on ff.net, Swearing, What if Nick was raised by Monroe and Rosalee?, mental health discussed, teenage Nick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaseyBeth/pseuds/KaseyBeth
Summary: Your whole life you're told to be normal, play normal, ACT NORMAL; truth is, its hard to act normal when your pretty certain you are slowly but surely going crazy... because honestly, being picked up by the police, is not how Nick had planned to start his day. What if Nick was raised by Monroe and Rosalee? What if he grew up like Truble?





	1. This Isn't A Fairytale

…………..  
_Of course there are monsters in this world, and I just happen to be one of them._  
…………..

The 16-year-old sat there, twisting his sketchpad in his hands as he watched the Portland Police Department function around him. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and tried his best to scrape the blood off his mouth and knuckles with his shirt. How did everything come down to this? He wasn’t a bad kid; he just saw things differently than everybody else; he saw things that weren’t there, that couldn’t be there. The boy closed his eyes, waiting to hear the verdict; waiting for someone to arrest him once again or force him back into another shitty foster home. He couldn’t go back… he wouldn’t go back, not after last time. His mind started racing as his body began to drift…

_Blood. There was blood everywhere, and screams; cries piercing through the blackness like a knife cutting through cake. He heard laughter, cruel and dark laughter; taunting him, cursing him. Someone was talking, yelling at him, mocking him. Images of monsters danced around him drunkenly but he couldn’t make out a single face. The voices grating through his brain like rushing water were unclear and fuzzy. What were they saying? More screams and laughter. Pain! Pain lit up his body… GRIMM!_

He jerked awake nearly dropping his sketchbook. He was sweating, his pulse racing. He inhaled the heavy air and stared at the blood on his knuckles, trying to calm himself; trying to reassure himself. It was just a dream, it was just a dream, it was just a dream… right? He needed to get out of here; he needed to run; to hide; to be someone other than himself. He once again ran a shaky hand through his hair and grasped at the necklace his Aunt had given him a few days before she died. He took another deep breath ignoring the pounding inside his head. _Get out!!!! Get out!!!! GET OUT!!!!_

“Nicholas Burkhardt?”

The teenager looked up feeling reality slipping back into view as his name was called. The officer smiled down at him warmly. It was off-putting and creepy. It made Nick feel uncomfortable and small. “We need to talk Nicholas.” He said. 

…………

  
The brisk October air swept around him like a tornado as he pulled his torn black jacket closer, trying to keep warm. He stood on the sidewalk and eyed the house in front of him. Needless to say, it was unlike any foster home he’d seen before, and he glanced down at the address again to make sure he was at the right place. He looked around at the other houses in the neighborhood, waiting for someone to jump out and yell “Wrong place loser”, before looking back at the house. The light blue house with gray trimming stood out as an eerie scene. Red and orange leaves scattered the ground as their naked predecessors stood peacefully still above them. The grass was beginning to lose its grassy green color and instead stood shortly as a pale yellow. The wind picked up slightly, shifting the leaves madly on the ground as the sky above him began to grey. He sighed and sat on the steps of the front porch, brushing the dirt off his worn black Converse’s, and started mulling over the conversation from earlier…

_“Well Nicholas, it seems you’ve really made a mess of things.” The officer said flipping through Nick’s file. “Kicked out of 4 schools in the past year; 9 different foster homes in the past 5 years; 3 institutions; 7 therapists, and not to mention, multiple arrests. Petty theft, vandalism, public obstruction, fights and one report of public intoxication.” The officer looked up and cleared his throat, dropping his file on the table and leaning back into his metal chair. He sighed, crossing his arms and stared at Nick; waiting for him to explain, waiting for him to talk._

_Nick stared at the officer before him. He seemed like an ordinary guy. Black hair, brown eyes, tanned skin and white teeth. His uniform matched all the others within the precinct, as did his posture and composure, but there was something creepy, something dark about him that Nick couldn’t place. He stared at his nametag, feeling a sense of familiarity and skepticism wash over him at such an odd name. Renard, such an unusual and harsh name but somehow fitting._

_He felt burning in his stomach and dropped his gaze from the officer to the plate of bagels in front of him. His stomach lurched from hunger. He could hear it growl mercilessly and prayed to God it wasn’t that loud. When was the last time he ate something? When was the last time he drank something? Fuck, when was the last time he slept? His stomach growled again. God, he was hungry but he wasn’t willing to devour the bagels in front of him, at least not after his foster parents. Not after…_

_The officer tapped his pen on the table pulling Nick from his thoughts. He uncrossed his arms and leaned into the table, placing his elbows on the cold metal frame, “Do you wanna talk about it Nick?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. The teenager swallowed, feeling a chill run down his spine. There was no way in hell he was going to talk about it, talk about them; especially to a creepy officer he just met. Nick shook his head slightly, looking down at his old sketchpad in his hands. He wasn’t ready to talk about them, or the others before them. They were all the same; shitty foster home after shitty foster home; truth is, no one wanted a fucked up kid who saw shit that wasn’t there, saw things that weren’t real. Like he explained to every officer, therapist and Doctor before Renard, he wasn’t a bad kid and he wasn’t going crazy, but they never believed him, so what was the point._

_He heard Renard sigh again and shuffle some papers around on the table. He heard the scrape of metal to cement and heard him get up. Nick looked up. Renard was staring into the reflective mirror and Nick could only imagine someone else standing behind it. How many foster kids sat in this chair? How many kids before him had been brought into this room and given the same speech? How many of them listened? How many of them were in jail? More importantly, how many of them were like him? Truly like him?_

_Nick glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit. The stain of dried blood coated the cut on his lower lip accompanied by a nasty bruise. Another bruise outlined his right eye, making his eyes seem brighter, younger and bluer. Dirt covered his face and clothes, clinging to the old fabric like Velcro. His black hair was a mess, not only from dried blood and dirt, but because he haphazardly forgot to brush it this morning or at least run his fingers through it, like he did most mornings. Nick looked back down at his fingers. Blood and dirt was caked under them and despite washing them earlier, it was still there, reminding him._

_Renard cleared his throat again and turned to face Nick. The kid looked so young and… so lost. He considered himself to be a tough man, especially given his family history but something about this kid made his heart break. Nick was way too young to have this kind of background and given what he was… well people… things… would be after him. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the mirror. What was he going to do with him? He couldn’t detain him based on the current situation, especially since some of the evidence went “missing”, nor “foster” him because that would look weird and he hated kids, besides he was expecting a promotion coming up and he couldn’t have an odd kid hanging around him all the time. He couldn’t just filter this kid into another institution or foster home either. If Nick truly is what the others say he is then Renard would need to keep him close, he would need to keep tabs on him… on the down low._

_Nick scrapped his Converse against the ground causing a screeching sound as the rubber met the floor. He cringed at the sound and shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position in a hard-ass chair. He wanted the speech to be over with; he hated waiting; he hated the silence. Besides, he could basically quote the speech by heart. Every police station, case worker and hospital had the same “You’re a troubled kid but we’re here to help by sending you to a different home which will be different this time” speech; the words and faces might change here and there, but the message was always the same. “Alright, I have a proposition.” Renard said, breaking the silence and once again sitting in the cold chair. He placed his hands on the table as if he was in an important business meeting. Nick stared at him, tightening his grip around his sketchpad, feeling his disappointing anticipation growing. “Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, you will come here after school and help out with whatever we need; coffee runs, answering the phone, filing papers, sweeping, you get the jest… and in return, I won’t arrest you and I’ll see what I can do about some of your misdemeanors.”_

_Nick stared at the officer. Not only was he confused but he was utterly shocked. This had to be the weirdest “You’re a troubled kid but we’re here to help” speech he had ever heard. Part of him was trying to figure out if this was a joke, while the other was looking for some type of hidden message behind his words. Nick rubbed one of his knuckles, still processing what Renard had said. “I- I got kicked out of my last school a few days ago.” He stated quietly. His voice was scratchy and hoarse. He winced; he sounded so small and childish. Renard sat silent for a second, “Okay, so, 5 schools in the past year. Don’t worry about it; I’ll take care of it. Portland has some great public schools. As for your living arrangements, I’ll also take care of that.”_

_Nick felt his eyebrows scrunch together. What did he mean he would take care of it? Where was he going to school? Who was he expected to live with? Renard stood up and opened the interrogation door, holding it open for Nick. Nick sat there, feeling more confused than he’d like to be and questioning whether or not he should leave. He slid his chair out softly and stood up, pressing his right fingers against the metal tabletop, standing his ground. “Give me a few hours Nick; you can wait in the precinct lobby if you want. In the meantime, you should really get something to eat, I know you’re hungry.” Renard said. Nick let his fingers fall off the table and walked past Renard._

_“Nicholas,” Renard whispered, grabbing the kid’s arm, stopping him from leaving just yet, “remember what I said, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday after school until you’ve paid off your debt to society, until you’ve convinced me you’re not just another troublemaker. If you skip a single day, any day, any week, any month, I will arrest you and you will be charged. Do you understand?” Nick stared at Renard. He seemed dead serious and part of that scared him. Renard let go of Nick’s arm and continued to eye the teenager, looking for a final verdict. Nick nodded gently and headed back towards the lobby of the precinct still dazed in shock and confusion._

The sound of an engine rattling ripped Nick from his reminiscing. He stared at the car that was slowly making its way up the street and felt his lips part slightly in disbelief. Never in a million years would he have guessed the owners of this house would be driving a 1973 yellow Volkswagen Bug. Nor would he have even thought that anyone in their right mind would own a Volkswagen Bug, much less a yellow one. He cleared his throat nervously and stood up as the car crawled up the driveway and came to a gentle stop. Nick fiddled childishly with his zipper at the bottom of his jacket. The gears shifted in place causing a small screeching sound to be heard from under the car. He felt his muscles tense as the car door creaked open and a tall man stepped out sporting a plaid button down. He hated this part. Meeting new people was not his forte, and given his past experiences with his other foster homes, no one really blamed him. He tried his best to relax; _it’ll be different, it’ll be different, it’ll be different._

The man grabbed his leather bag from the passenger seat and looked up as he closed the car door gently. Confusion settled over his face when he saw Nick. _What the hell? Who was this kid?_

The man slowly made his way down the tiny sidewalk, “Um- hello there?” He said. He closed his eyes for a brief second taking in the awkward tone of his voice. The kid didn’t move, he just stood there, messing with his jacket and tightening is grip around some book he had in his left hand. The man looked toward the front door then back at the kid, “Last time I checked there were only two people who lived here and I’m pretty sure you weren’t that other person.”

The kid stopped messing with his zipper; he placed his hand out in front of him as if to shake hands. “I-I’m Nick.” He said quietly but confidently. The man glanced down at Nick’s hand, then back at the kid before shaking hands. “Well hello Nick, I’m Monroe…owner of this house…um… I don’t mean for this to sound rude but, can I help you with something?” he asked skeptically. It wasn’t every day that a muddy beat-up teenager showed up at his doorstep unannounced. Much less one that looked so lost.

The kid reached into his pocket and pulled out a white crumpled up piece of paper and handed it to the man. Monroe grabbed the paper, opening it slowly while glancing at the awkward teen in front of him. Nick bit his bottom lip nervously and stared at Monroe. A small grin settled over Monroe’s face as he continued to read the small cursive note Renard had written. He finished reading, folded the paper in half, and stuffed it gently in his coat pocket. “Well Nick,” he said, walking past the teenager and unlocking the door, “it seems we have few hours to kill before Rosalee comes home. How do you feel about helping me decorate the house for Halloween?”

……………


	2. Humpty Dumpty Sat On A Wall...

………………………………………………………………………………………

 _Last night, I sang to the monster._  
……………………………………………………………………………………….

A week later, when he was questioned about the destruction of the school’s chemistry building, Nick would shrug and state that everything that had happened to him was either, pure coincidence, or to put it moderately- inescapably bad luck. In truth, he had no idea how it happened. The Portland newspapers had puked out melodramatic propaganda that dripped with their own versions, which spun anywhere from a gas leak to a masked vigilante leaving the blazing scene. But… if Nick was completely honest with himself, he had no recollection of that whole night. None; nothing. He remembered waking up on one of the benches outside of the school; his face blackened from smoke and his head swimming with intoxicated questions he couldn’t find answers to.

“We’re going to try this one more time Nicholas,” the bald man sitting in front of him said. Nick shifted in his seat. He had been cramped inside this tiny office for over an hour now trying his best to convince whomever that he had no idea how the fire started. He cracked his knuckles feeling tension building. Why didn’t he believe him? He wasn’t a bad kid! The bald man sat cross-legged behind a desk that looked expensive. Papers and charts scattered his desk in an organized fashion; a small nameplate rested lazily at the foot of his desk, Mr. Hamble. Nick shivered slightly.

Mr. Hamble’s office was decorated vigorously with youthful memorabilia, which Nick assumed, was a desperate attempt to relive his “glory days”. He had no photos in his office that looked less than 20 years old, and the only lively thing was a cactus that sat quietly in the corner, on the brink of death. How fitting. His attire was as mind-numbingly ancient as the walls around him. Nick turned to look at a photo nailed on the wall. It was a black and white photograph of two young boys dressed in finely pressed suits, standing outside a building that read, “Homer’s Finest Burgers; est. 1964.” He’d have to look for that later.

Mr. Hamble cleared his throat, “If you didn’t start the fire, then why were you seen leaving the school around 2:30am Wednesday morning?” Nick shrugged. He could hear Renard and Monroe talking quietly outside. He had already been through this with both of them, the school principle, a doctor and now, a therapist. _You still don’t know you stupid kid!_ He bit the bottom of his lip and took a deep breath, “Like I said, I don’t remember.” Mr. Hamble tapped his pen against the desk a few times before writing something down on a yellow piece of paper. He glanced back up at Nick a moment later and said, “I was told you were kicked out of one of your previous schools due to arson. Is that true?” Nick felt his heart skip a beat. _No. No, it wasn’t true. It didn’t happen like that!_ “Yes,” he said quietly, shifting again in his chair and looking down at the shirt Rosalee had given him. It was ancient Applejack’s shirt from the back of Monroe’s closet; the green had begun to fade to yellow, and the fabric seemed to swallow Nick’s slender frame.

“So, you admit you had started the fire in your previous school?” Mr. Hamble questioned slowly. Nick looked up again, staring into the face of the man before him. He looked old and timeworn like someone’s grandfather. The wrinkles and crevices that sat on his face told the story of a wise man but the comb over, or at least the one single strand of hair that was deemed a comb over, told the story of a desperate man.

“Yes.” Nick said. _No._

“Why did you start that fire?”

“Stress from finals.” Nick said gently; a small smile toyed with his lips. If he had said that with Renard here, he would have gotten smacked on the back of the head. Mr. Hamble didn’t look amused, “Nicholas.” He pressed.

Nick swallowed, “I was on a bunch of medications. I was convinced I was seeing monsters.” _They were monsters you stupid kid. You stupid Grimm! GRIMM!_

“And you wanted to get rid of them by burning down the school?”

Nick ran a hand through his hair. No, he was convinced he had been seeing monsters but he didn’t start that fire. He had tried to stop it. The things he was seeing, the monsters he was seeing- they had tried to start it. “Yes.” He nodded.

“Then you see then why the school wants to press blame on you, right?”

Nick nodded again. He was an easy target with a reputation.

“I’m going to have a word with the officer and your guardian outside, then talk with the principle to see about allowing you back on campus. In the meantime Nicholas, I’d like to see you at least once a week until we get to the bottom of this. Is that clear?”

Nick clenched his fists slightly before relaxing his whole body. At least he isn’t prescribing you medication like the last few therapists. “Yes sir,” he said quietly.

………………………………………………………………………………….

He laid there, fully clothed and soaking wet. The rain had been beating down outside for 2 weeks now and somehow Nick saw this fitting considering that had been how long he had been here. He could hear the soft scrapes from the trees outside as they met the small window in his bedroom. He stared at the ceiling above him watching the lights from the cars. It was quiet except for the trees and the old fan that creaked gently. He shivered. Damn. He was cold but he couldn’t bring himself to change out of his clothes. It was too much effort.

He turned to glance at the small clock on the bedside table. It was 3:23 in the morning. He had school in a few hours and like most nights; he had been unable to sleep. He knew in the morning he would get a lecture from either Monroe or Rosalee about not coming home until around 1 in the morning. He had gotten caught up inspecting the burned down chemistry building, against Renard’s wishes, and had lost track of time. On top of that, he hadn’t said a word about that night except when asked, and he hadn’t apologized to Monroe and Rosalee for dragging them to the hospital at 5 o’clock in the morning. He turned back towards the picture show above him, listening to the silence. In this moment, laying in the dark all alone, he missed his Aunt the most. He would lay in bed at night and listen to the soft tinkering of her in the other room; listening to the soft clicking of something metallic and wondering, with his 9-year-old mind, what it was. Although he had spent many nights troubling over what she was doing, he had also found it comforting. This was something he hadn’t realized until she was already gone.

He felt his breathing hitch slightly at the thought of watching his Aunt die. It had been torment because she was the only one he had; she was the only one who had cared about him. Watching her die, watching her murdered, it had been the worst day of his life, and something he tried very hard to forget. He grasped once more at the necklace around his neck. Nick swallowed hard and glanced at the clock again feeling tears threatening to escape. He wasn’t going to cry; his Aunt wouldn’t like that. He felt anger surge through him and sat up quickly, wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. He ran a shaky hand through his damp hair and kicked his muddy sneakers off. He stood up and steadied himself against the desk across from the bed. It had been a while since he had eaten a full meal, and even longer since he had been able to sleep properly. He yawned softly and stretched, touching the fan above him. His body still aching from the event’s from earlier that week.

Nick walked over to the small window and looked down at the empty street. People, animals and monsters rested gently in their homes while he was unable to find his. Rain washed down the windows and dripped from the tree outside. He shivered again and shrugged his jacket off gently. Even without this extra piece of clothing, he was still drenched. His hair hadn’t fully dried yet and his black shirt still clung to his skin. He walked back over to his desk and sat down; flipping through his sketchbook, he grabbed a pencil and opened to a blank page. He stared at it for a few seconds before dropping his pencil and leaning back in his chair.

He looked down at his book bag on the floor. A small smirk spread across his face as he continued to stare at it. It had been Monroe’s when he went to Brown, and he liked to describe it as “an old gal who’s been through an academic rollercoaster”. The bag was red and simple, among other things. There was a small tear in the side that was held together by an even smaller piece of silver duct tape. Eddie Monroe was scribbled inside on one of the pockets in messy unorganized handwriting. All-in-all, it was a sham of a bag, but for some reason, Nick liked it. It had managed to survive what looked like some difficult and uncertain times; it had character. And it was his to keep if he wanted it. None of his previous foster homes had ever given him anything… except a few bruises and scars… and nightmares.

He shivered again and looked down at the bandages that were wrapped loosely around his left wrist and forearm. He grabbed the edge of the gauze and unwound it until his bare skin was exposed. Peeling red skin, small blisters and even smaller cuts were still visible even in the dim light that filled the tiny room. He scratched at the skin gently and winced. It still hurt. He sighed, leaning his head on the back of the chair and spun around a few times. The spinning stopped a few minutes later when his right foot caught the desk. He tilted his head slightly left and stared at the old room. It’d been years since he had a room of his own; years since he had a bed of his own. Old photographs clung to the wall, along with numerous clocks. This was one of the continuous themes throughout the house that Nick had noticed. He glanced back at the window watching the rain melt down the glass and feeling his eyelids beginning to grow heavy.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

He was coughing, choking- he wasn’t breathing. The air in his lungs was strangled from him and he couldn’t breathe. His eyes flew open and the world around him spun viciously. He couldn’t breathe; oh god, he was going to fucking die! He sat up quickly, losing his balance and meeting the mushy earth that lay underneath him. He sucked in a ragged breath, coughing roughly and sucked in another raw breath. Dirt, water and God only knows how many germs were riding in the air he was breathing, but holy hell he could finally breathe. He laid there for a while, breathing in the sweet oxygen and coughing it back out; allowing the wet ground to seep through his shirt, and coat his aching body. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He wasn’t even sure what time it was, let alone what day it was.

He groaned loudly as he meshed his hands against the muddy ground and shakily forced himself into a semi-sitting position. He leaned his back against the table behind him and ran a hand through his hair, taking in his surroundings. It was early dawn. The evidence of night still stood proudly in the sky but streaks of light had begun to spring from the horizon joyfully. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through the grass, allowing his fingers to soak in the wet dew that clung to the blades.

He blinked and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve trying to clear his mind. Where the hell was he? What happened? He was facing the woods; the tall trees that lay before him rustled slightly as the wind picked up. He shivered and looked down at his hands, realizing for the first time, that they hurt. Nick stared at them for a while trying his best to see through the shadowy darkness. It took him a moment to realize they were bloody. No, they were covered in blood. He panicked. He felt around his shirt, looking for any sign of injury, any sign of blood. Nothing. The fabric was covered in small holes, dirt and burn marks but no blood. He felt his body grow cold and found he was suffocating again. Whose blood was this then? If he wasn’t covered in his blood then whose blood was he wearing? He grabbed the table behind him and forced himself up slowly, feeling the world beginning to spin around him. He took a deep breath and- screaming, he heard screaming, yelling, someone was yelling!

Nick turned around quickly, too quickly. He dropped to his knees as the world began to crumble around him. He retched loudly as the universe continued to spin, and began coughing again as he tried to focus on the scene before him. He finished and wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve and closed his eyes for a moment. You’re okay. You’re okay! You’re okay? The thought bounced around in his mind; turning more into a question than a statement with each passing second. He opened his eyes, took a shallow breath and forced himself up again, grabbing the table for rooted support. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. He was standing on a field surrounded by trees and something that made Nick go numb. The blood in his veins turned to ice and suddenly the question of whose blood he had on his hands seemed unimportant. He was staring at a school. His school. On fire. His school was on fire. HIS SCHOOL WAS ON FUCKING FIRE.

He felt his body moving towards the school while his mind stayed still. He couldn’t think. _What happened? Why was the school on fire? Who the fuck was screaming? Why was he walking towards a burning building?_ _Call for help you dumbass!_ He forced his body to stop. He was standing a few feet in front of the building now; the windows were masked in a yellow flame and Nick could feel the heat already. The door to the school looked like it had been ripped open; it was laying a few feet on the ground shamefully. Nick felt a chill run down his spine. The door was covered in bloody gashes and an odd symbol he had never seen before. He looked back at the hole where the door had been and shuddered. He felt his stomach churn again at the thought of something demonic crawling out of the smoky cave. He heard something explode inside the school, followed by a loud crash. He reached in his pocket slowly before realizing he didn’t own a phone anymore. _Well Shit._ Someone screamed again, and before Nick could stop himself, he barged inside the building.

It was hot. No, it was burning. The air inside was thick and unbreathable. Nick covered his mouth with the bottom of his shirt hoping to filter out some of the smoke. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Flames engulfed the hallway around him and for a second he fought the urge to run. _Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid._ He glanced at the lockers beside him, watching as the metal morphed and twisted, paint dripping down the wobbly frame. He coughed loudly and sucked in a smoky breath. He walked slowly through the halls trying to peer inside each classroom; trying to find the screaming. A pillar above him fell and he moved quickly. He needed to get out of here fast. Smoke was clouding the air and he put a bloodied hand in front of him, feeling for something that wasn’t on fire.

“HELP!” He whipped his head in the direction of the screaming. He coughed again, chocking on the hot air. Something exploded to his left and Nick was slammed into the wall behind him. He cried out in pain as his left shoulder collided with the burning wall. He clutched at his shirt, the material around his shoulder was burned and his skin was exposed, blistering and blackened. He stood there for a second trying to peer through the hallway. Black smoke filled the tiny corridor and no light was visible, anywhere.

“PLEASE! HELP!” He heard someone cry again. He heard creaks and groans around him as the old building was beginning to give. Something fell to his right, and Nick glanced down the hall to see a door burst open, flames gushing out. HE NEEDED TO GET OUT OF HERE! NOW! He dropped to his knees, his lungs still trying to grasp at whatever oxygen they could find. He sat there for a second, trying to see light, trying to find life, and wondering if this was what Hell felt like. He took another small breath and moved towards his chemistry room. He felt the ground beneath him beginning to shake and wondered if he was the one shaking. He grabbed the handle above him and cursed loudly. _Stupid boy! Haven’t you learned anything from chemistry class!_ He slid up the door slowly, wrapping his hand with the bottom of his shirt and gripping the handle again. He pressed against the door hard. It didn’t budge. He felt the world around him beginning to spin and the heat from the handle beginning to seep through his shirt, and pressed against the door again. “Please open you fucking ugly ass door,” he shouted loudly. His hand was burning now; his head was swimming, and the world around him was growing darker. He pressed one last time, his sneakers rubbing against the floor. The door fell open and Nick stood there for a second stunned, and dizzily contemplating whether he had suddenly possessed superhuman strength.

He collapsed to his knees once more and looked up through the smoke to see a girl and guy huddled under one of the desks together. Oh, great, a fucking couple. He coughed loudly and choked. He glanced again at the couple and choked back a silent scream. Through the smoke and orange glow of the flames around him, he could make out two distorted heads with piercing red eyes. He shook his head; he didn’t need this right now. He wasn’t going crazy. HE WASN’T GOING CRAZY! He looked back up to see the couple staring at him with wide eyes. He probably looked like a flaming lunatic. Nick felt his stomach heave again, and shuttered. He was going to die here. With two idiots staring at him because they were too stupid to leave. He sucked in smoke, “GET OUT!” he yelled loudly. He felt something fall behind him and fought the urge to turn around, because honestly, he didn’t care, he was going to die here. He was going to die in this smoky grave. NO! NO! HE WASN’T GOING TO DIE THIS WAY! NOT TODAY. HE HAD BEEN THROUGH TOO MUCH TO DIE THIS WAY!

He grabbed the doorframe beside him, ignoring the severe pain coursing through his hands and pulled himself up. He stumbled towards the back of the classroom, hoping- no praying- praying to God that there was a door. He felt the wall slowly and heard a muffled scraping sound as he realized someone had moved behind him. He turned briefly, seeing that the boy had crawled out from under the desk and instead was reaching for something in his bag. Nick bit back a sarcastic comment and turned back towards the smoky abyss, again feeling for a door. He stopped when he felt glass glide across his hand. He closed his eyes briefly as his vision wavered and felt his knees buckling. He pressed his right shoulder towards the glass and with all the energy he had left, rammed his shoulder into it. He felt something break and a sharp pain envelope his right arm. He covered his left hand with the remaining burnt fabric of his shirt and broke the hanging loose glass around the small window. It was small but big enough for them to fit through… it had to be. He saw flashing lights faintly through the black smoke and wondered what could possibly be going on now.

He turned back towards the couple; the girl still huddled under the desk, clutching her knees and crying loudly… but the boy? Nick scanned the room slowly and spotted the boy standing near the chalkboard, something shiny clasped in his left hand. He stared at Nick with glowing widespread eyes. Nick felt his blood boil; he was trying to help them and they didn’t even seem to care. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” Nick yelled. He coughed loudly and inhaled, realizing, he could no longer breathe. There was no oxygen in the air now. The girl crawled slowly out from under the desk and ran to the boy, and for a moment Nick was glad his strength was gone, otherwise he would have pushed them out the window himself. They stood there for a second staring at him, before stumbling blindly towards the window.

The girl went first, she turned towards Nick, giving him a small smile and then climbed carefully out the window. The boy, however, stood in front of Nick, eyeing him like he was insane. Well, he probably wasn’t wrong, Nick thought. Nick felt his vision sway again and his lungs straining; he glanced down at the shiny object in the boy’s hand and after a moment, realized through the smoke, that it was a knife. _What the actual fuck?_

The boy pushed the knife towards Nick’s chest and Nick could feel the sharp tip digging its way into his burning body. God, his whole body hurt. “Stay away from me and Sarah,” the boy growled before grabbing the edge of the window and climbing out slowly.

Nick stood there, too dazed and oxygen-deprived to think, to move. _Who the hell was Sarah? Oh yeah, the girl. Why did he have a knife? Why we’re they in here? Why hadn’t they tried to leave? Why were they scared of him?_ The world around him was fading, but whether it was from the smoke or the fact that he was losing consciousness, Nick didn’t know. Everything around him seemed to move at a snail’s pace. He remembered grabbing the window and feeling the glass digging into his exposed flesh on his shoulder and hands. He remembered cursing. He remembered lying on the ground, and feeling something wet dipping on his face. He remembered hearing, “Jesus, kid. Nick, can you hear me?” And then, he remembered nothing.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Nick sat there on the edge of the hospital bed, raking over what the Nurse had told him, and trying to figure out how, in the week and a half he had been here, he had managed to fuck up so badly. He shivered and looked down at the bandages that were wrapped tightly around his arms and hands. “Minor scrapes and burns,” the Nurse had said, “nothing to be too concerned about, but something that should be watched”. He picked at one of the older scabs on his palm and shivered again. The small white room was freezing. The Nurses had taken his shirt or what was left of it, which left him sitting on the bed, clad in only a pair of scorched jeans and melted sneakers. He heard someone clear their throat and looked up at Monroe.  
Monroe was sitting in the chair opposite from him, his eyes dancing from the scar below Nick’s left shoulder to the cigarette burn on his right ribs. Nick suddenly felt embarrassed. He could feel every mark that painted his pale body and wondered just how visible they were. _It’s not like you didn’t deserve it Grimm!_ He cleared his throat and looked towards the small window that led into the gray and pink hallway. He could see Renard talking to two other officers and winced. He was in deep shit. He turned back to Monroe. He was leaning forward now with his head in his hands, and Nick couldn’t help but wonder how long Monroe had actually been here. He looked tired, not angry, just tired. _It’s your fault he’s here you stupid kid. It’s your fault he isn’t sleeping. It’s your fault he isn’t working. It’s. All. Your. Fault._

Monroe sighed and looked back up at Nick. The kid still had black smoke coating his already too pale chest and face; his chest was littered with past experiences, and his left shoulder and arms were wrapped tightly with what use to be white gauze. The teenager shivered again, goosebumps were slightly visible on his exposed flesh. Monroe reached for the cardigan that was resting lazily behind him and held it out for the kid. “Here,” he said after a few seconds of watching confusion cross over Nick’s face. The teenager took it slowly as if he wasn’t sure he wanted it, and put it on even more so. Monroe suppressed a small chuckle. He didn’t consider himself to be a big man but seeing Nick swimming in his cardigan made him seem like a giant.

The kid relaxed after a few moments and Monroe rubbed his hands together. He and Rosalee had been here all night. Waiting and wondering if the teenager was ever going to wake up, or if he was going to be okay. The Doctors had said that Nick hadn’t sustained any major injuries; his arms, hands and shoulders, although slightly burned, were in fine condition, and should heal easily on their own. He ran his hands through his hair and stared back down at the speckled floor again. Nick’s whole body was littered with previous “mishaps” as the Doctor put it; he was malnourished and underweight for his height and age, but besides that, in perfect health. Monroe had scoffed at this remark and gone to the Nurse station several times wanting to know why in the hell the kid wasn’t waking up. After the fifth or sixth time, one of the Doctors came out and explained it was probably pure exhaustion that kept the kid unconscious.

Monroe’s phone buzzed silently beside him and he looked up to see Rosalee flash across the screen. She had left when Nick woke to work on an order for one her customers. He grabbed his phone and glanced back at the teenager, “I’ll be right outside kid,” he said before opening the door and stepping outside. Both Monroe and Rosalee had started to become accustomed to the idea that they were currently sharing their living space with a teenager. Nick wasn’t like most kids, or, at least, he wasn’t like Rosalee’s 12-year-old cousin. The age gap set aside, Nick was still an odd teenager. He was quiet, reserved and sweet; he looked harmless. He didn’t complain much and he hadn’t caused any problems besides this one. He kept to himself a lot, making small sarcastic comments that made them laugh, and helped out in any way he could. He didn’t talk back; he respected their authority and always worked around their schedule. There wasn’t any need for concern regarding a “psychotic episode” as the Doctors put it. But then again, Nick had only been in their care for less than two weeks. So all-in-all, they didn’t really know that much about him besides what Renard had told them over the phone.

Nick swallowed loudly, feeling his heart speed up as Monroe stepped outside. All he wanted to do was go back to Monroe’s, take a shower, and forget about this whole damned night. He stood up slowly, pulling Monroe’s cardigan closer, looking for warmth. He grabbed his necklace that sat on the bedside table and inspected it closely, making sure there were no burn marks or melted metal, before putting it on. He sat back down gradually realizing he couldn’t leave; not only would he need to be checked out but he had nowhere to go.

“Rosalee, no, I-I don’t know. I don’t know if they are pressing charges. No I didn’t ask. Well, what do you think we should do?” Monroe said softly. Even with the door slightly shut Nick could tell they were arguing about him. He felt his fists clench. Anger and rage blossomed throughout his body, ripping and clawing at his ribs, begging to get out. It hurt more than the rough skin under his bandages. His breathing hitched. He wasn’t a bad kid. He didn’t start the fire- well, he was 80% sure he didn’t start the fire. _Then why were you there loser?_

“I don’t know!” Nick exclaimed loudly before he could stop.

He glanced cheekily at the door to see Monroe still on the phone, giving him weird looks. _Great, they all think you’re going insane._ He saw Renard say something to Monroe before walking into the small white room and shutting the door behind him. He took the seat Monroe had occupied earlier and cleared his throat, “The precinct is clearing you until a further investigation is conducted. There wasn’t any video footage but we received an anonymous tip that puts you at the scene before the fire started. The school doesn’t know who is responsible but for the moment Nick, they’re looking at you. I’ll see what I can do, but I have to tell you this doesn’t look good.” Nick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He knew the school would hold him accountable regardless… it always worked out that way, no matter where he went.

“When you come to the office tomorrow, I would like you to meet with one of the precinct therapists to go over with him again what happened.” Renard said calmly. Nick bit his bottom lip. _Great. Another shrink to pick your brain. Another shrink to lock you in an institution again. There goes another 2 years. Great job Nick._

Renard let out a long sigh and picked some splintered wood off his uniform. He had been one of the first ones to arrive at the school. The whole chemistry building was in flames; smoke stretching 2 miles high and darkening the sky, preventing the rising sun from shining through. He had found Nick lying on his back a few feet away from the fire, covered in whatever was left of his clothing, black soot and blood. To be honest he remembered thinking the kid was dead. He looked dead. He was lying motionless and Renard had wondered whether or not he could bring himself to check to see if the kid was breathing. When the rain had started falling from the murky sky, Nick jerked. His body suddenly coughing and gasping, trying to make room in his smoke-clogged lungs for the oxygen he so desperately needed. Renard had jumped too. He hadn’t expected Nick to come back. Most Grimm’s don’t.

“Nicholas, tell me again what you remember?” He said, straightening his tie and leaning back. Nick continued to stare out the window at Monroe. His back was turned to the glass now and he was gesturing with his hands; Nick couldn’t make out what he was saying. “I- I don’t remember much. I woke up on one of tables outside the school. I don’t know what happened before that- I don’t even know how I got there.” He took a deep breath and turned back towards Renard, “I remember seeing the school and hearing screaming coming from inside. And I remember running into the building.” He paused briefly and closed his eyes.

Memories flooded back to him in waves. He was standing in the school again. Flames and smoke surrounding him; crowding him. He could still hear the sound of wood and glass breaking as it gave way to the hungry flames. He could still hear the screams. He could still see the door-

“I found a boy and girl about my age, in one of the classrooms near the end of the hallway”, he said slowly. He swallowed. He could still hear the girl screaming. He could still see the boy firmly grasping the polished blade in his hand. Renard cleared his throat, “There wasn’t any sign of a boy or girl, Nick.”

Nick opened his eyes slowly and looked at Renard, confusion settling over his face. _What?_

“They were there sir,” he said softly.

Renard shook his head. He had searched the whole parameter, the firemen had scavenged every inch of the building; there was no evidence of anyone else being in that school. “Nick, I promise you, no one else was there, just you. We didn’t find anyone else. Anywhere.” He said gently. Nick’s breathing hitched. _No. NO!_ The boy had a knife in his hand; he dug it into Nick’s chest until he bled. Nick glanced down at his chest and started wiping away the remaining smoke, trying to find the blood, trying to find the cut. _Nothing._ He looked back up; his eyes widened now, his breathing catching rapidly. He remembered the boy and the girl! _There had been a boy! There had been a- You’re going crazy. You imagined it. All. Of. It. Pathetic Grimm!_

“What were you doing at the school Nick?” Nick tried to think. He couldn’t. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. _You imagined it all, you psycho!_ He dropped his head in his hands and shook his head. _He didn’t know. He didn’t remember. He was outside the school then inside the classroom. He saw the boy. He saw the girl. He saw a knife. Then nothing. School. Classroom. Boy. Girl. Knife. Nothing. School. Classroom. Boy. Girl. Knife. Nothing. SchoolClassroomBoyGirlKnifeNothing. There had to be other people. There had to be a knife. He wouldn’t have barged into a burning building on his own!_ Nick held his breath and felt his stomach lurch. _Unless… unless… you were the one who started the fire._

Nick felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. Renard was staring at him with a worried expression. Nick put his hands by his side and took a deep breath. He sat like that for a moment, calming himself down. _Just breathe, you’ll figure it out later… maybe._ Renard leaned back in his chair again and glanced over at the window. Monroe was still on the phone. He eyed the teenager again, “Why were you at the school Nick?” Nick shook his head and shrugged slightly. Renard sighed, hoping the therapist would have better luck tomorrow. He stood up and walked to the door slowly. He could feel Nick’s eyes on him, watching him. He turned around, one more question burning the tip of his tongue. “Nick,” he questioned, “at the school… whose blood was on you?”

Nick swallowed loudly, “I-I’m not sure.” In all that had happened in the past 11 hours, he had forgotten about that. He felt a chill run down his spine, knowing that if he had been the one who had burned down the school, then he could have hurt someone too.

…………………………………………………………………………………..


	3. Through the Looking Glass

…………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 _Every day is a nightmare, over and over again, replayed in my head…_  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………

_He stood there, staring at the blood coating his hands, shivering as snow began to fall from the rusty tin hole above him. He glanced around the tiny house, trying to peer through the dim light, trying to make out the shape of the little girl who huddled in the corner moments ago. He coughed loudly, feeling bloody saliva drip down his chin and glanced once more at the body lying a few feet away. Tears welled in his eyes and he choked out a sob as they began to fall down his face. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, trying to remember where he was, trying to return to reality._

_His knees buckled and he fell to a sobbing mess on the wooden floor. His knees and palms scrapped against the ground harshly, wooden splinters piercing his hands and he reached for the person lying in front of him. Blood dripped from the wound on his side, staining his shirt and dripped rhythmically to the floor. His vision wavered as something moved to his left and he jerked his head quickly, trying to make out the source. Something sharp collided with his right side and he let out a cry as his world flipped, leaving him staring at the tiny hole in the roof above him. He blinked a few times as snow and sleet covered his bruised face, and peered to the right, hearing someone crying._

_Something smacked against his face and strong hands gripped his arms, tugging him upright, slamming him against the wooden wall behind him. He let out a harsh breath as the air was forced from his lungs, and bit his bottom lip, squinting through the dim light. Something moved in front of him. Red eyes pierced through the darkness and a growled echoed off the walls, but Nick could only make out a blurry distorted image of a monster. “It’s time to teach you a lesson Grimm,” the creature growled. Nick felt something sharp slam into his head, then he blacked out…_

He jerked awake, gripping the sheets that were plastered against his sweaty body, and scrambled from the bed quickly. He smacked against the wooden floor with a loud thump, trying to support himself on unstable legs, trying to push his aching body up with trembling arms, struggling to push oxygen to his deprived lungs. He watched motionless as sweat slid down his arms, seeping into the bandages wrapped loosely around his wrists, taking in a harsh breath before realizing it was just a dream. He let out a loud sigh. He sat up gently, pressing his back against the mattress behind him, and ran a shaky hand through his sweat soaked hair. _It was just a dream. It was just a dream... Right?_

He looked down at the white gauze and let his hand hover over it for a second before slowly unwrapping it, sucking in a harsh breath as he touched the scabbed skin. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm himself down, and unwound the other bandage on his other arm, flexing the muscles. The skin on his arms was almost healed, but they had begun to itch relentlessly due to new skin trying to form over old. He spread his legs out in front of him, trying to stretch his tired limbs as questions whirled through his mind. _If it was just a dream, then why did it feel so real?_ Music blared to his right and Nick looked over to see the small numbers on his alarm clock blinking viciously. It 7:30am. Despite sleeping later than he normally did, he felt like he hadn’t slept.

He leaned his head back against the bed, running another hand through his hair and let out a loud yawn. He’d had the same nightmare for two weeks now, the only difference was this one hadn’t ended in fire. Chills ran over Nick’s skin as sweat dried on his body, and Nick closed his eyes briefly. Everyone in town seemed to ignore him, too afraid to make conversation, while everyone at the precinct seemed to think he’d done it, suspecting him of any small crimes or weird/ unusual events plaguing Portland... everyone except Renard.

He heard a soft knock at his door and looked up to see Rosalee entering the small bedroom. She glanced at Nick then to the tangled sheets on the bed before smiling softly, “Nick, honey, we heard something fall downstairs, and wanted to make sure you were okay. Are you okay?”

Rosalee crossed her arms over her chest gently, coming closer. The teenager ran another hand through his hair and pushed himself off the floor shakily, “Y-yeah I’m fine, just a nightmare. It’s fine.”

Rosalee nodded softly, “Are you sure? You’re pale… we can- you don’t have to go back today if you’d like another day…”

Nick walked over to the old dresser standing in the corner, glancing at his reflection in the mirror briefly. Despite almost sleeping the full night, he looked tired. Dark bags sat under his eyes, standing out against his pale face; his black hair looked almost psychotic, and despite being almost healed, the skin on his left arm and shoulder looked angry and rough. He let out a loud sigh, glancing briefly at Rosalee in the mirror as she inched closer. Nick coughed, glancing down at the dresser, and started rummaging through the pile of hand-me-down shirts Monroe had given him, tossing them messily aside in the wooden drawer.

He’d forgotten today was his first day back. His first day back since the incident- since the Chemistry building burned down. _At least it’s Friday_ , he thought, grabbing the black Oktoberfest shirt that was pressed in the corner of the drawer. He ran his fingers over the collar fondly, smirking when he saw Monroe and Rosalee’s names embroidered on the back, a date underneath. He gripped the shirt tightly in his hand, grabbing some of the gauze off his desk, and turned back towards Rosalee.

Nick bit his lip as guilt washed over him, and he shivered again. Whether she had intended for Nick to see the emotion painted on her face, Nick couldn’t help but feel guilty as worry washed over her complexion, nervous expressions toying with her lips. _Why was she nervous? Why was she worried? She didn’t have to face a group of people who hated her. She didn’t burn down the building. She didn’t imagine a whole scenario that didn’t happen. She didn’t murder someone! You did! You did! YOU DID!_

Nick shook his head, pulling the old shirt over his messy black hair, “It’s fine Rosalee. I’m fine. I can’t miss anymore school anyway.” He grabbed his sketchbook from his desk, running his fingers lightly over the torn pages, and knelt next to his bookbag, shoving books in it harshly, inspecting the hole that remained on the side of the red bag. He heard her sigh and tensed, feeling her eyes analyzing him. _She thinks you’re crazy. She thinks you’re ill! She’s going to tell you to stay, because she doesn’t trust you…_

_…Red eyes pierced through the darkness and a growled echoed off the walls, but Nick could only make out a blurry distorted image of a monster. “It’s time to teach you a lesson Grimm,” the creature growled..._

“Alright… Monroe offered to drive you but call us if you have any problems,” She said the last word lightly, as if it was offensive and delicate, Nick winced. He wasn’t crazy.

Rosalee sighed again, stopping in the door, her hand hovering over the knob as if she was debating whether she should leave Nick alone, with the door closed, “he also made spinach pancakes downstairs.” A look of disgust crossed Nick’s face at the idea of spinach pancakes. The thought alone was horrifying but truth be told, they were probably pretty good, considering Monroe was surprisingly an amazing cook. Rosalee laughed gently, “don’t worry Nick, I can make you some normal ones.” She closed the door slowly and Nick waited till he heard her footsteps fade before looking back down at the small bookbag.

He really needed a new one. The small hole was bigger now, straining to stay together with the small piece of duct tape that covered it. It was trying desperately to stay in one piece as books and binders pierced through, letting pens and pencils slip through the damaged piece of fabric. The small hole was getting bigger, making it harder to hide… eventually the bag would rip, eventually the hole would be too big to piece back together. Eventually… it wouldn’t be able to stay in one piece and everyone would know that his bag was breaking, ripping, splitting into a million pieces for the world to see. _Just like me_ , he thought.

…………………………………………………………………………..

 

Nick sighed loudly as he pressed his aching head against the cold metal of his locker door. The bandages wrapped around his arms itched viciously and Nick grit his teeth, resisting the urge to scratch his arms. He didn’t really want to be here. But it was either put up with school, or put up with Monroe and another one of his ‘violence is not the answer’ lectures. A small smile toyed with his lips at the idea of having to listen to another boring conversation centered around a hidden message coming from a guy who dressed like Pinocchio’s father. He didn’t really mind the lectures though… it was better than Renard’s threats.

He heard a strangled noise and looked to his right to see one of the janitor’s standing a few feet away, nonchalantly mopping at an already soaking wet floor. Nick nodded gently as the bald man gasped, dropping his mop, plastering his stance to the floor as if his shoes were glued to the ugly speckled ground. Nick’s vision swayed for a second as his headache pulsed down his neck and he sucked in a sharp breath. The janitor’s face distorted into a beaver-like creature, his front teeth warping at long pointed angles, stringy whiskers growing from his cheeks. Nick pinched his eyes shut, slamming his head harshly against the locker door as his breathing hitched. _Not here! Not here! Not now! Please!_ He gripped the locker door, hearing a loud bang, some splashing and pried an eye open to see the janitor scrambling to push past the student body violently. Nick groaned again, shutting his eyes as his head spun. _You’re losing it! You’re going insane! Pull it together man!_

Something slammed to his left and Nick opened his eyes quickly, turning his attention towards a small Asian kid scrambling to pick his books off the floor. Nick let out a few deep breaths before kneeling next to kid, picking up some of the papers that littered the floor, handing them to the small boy, smiling gently. The boy eyed him suspiciously before nodding, taking them from Nick’s hands.

Nick went to stand, helping the kid off the floor, taking note of the black eye that was forming on the boy’s right cheek. The small boy nodded again, muttering a small “thanks,” grabbing his bookbag from the floor. He glanced down at the bandages on Nick’s wrists and Nick bit his lip. _I’m not crazy,_ he thought, taking a step forward, wanting to explain, reaching his hand out to grasp the other kid’s shoulder. Something hard collided with Nick’s jaw as his body was shoved against the locker.

He sat dazed for a second, listening to ringing in his ears, as a metallic taste filled his mouth, wondering what the hell just happened. He looked up to see a dark figure looming over him for a second as Nick’s vision wavered and his breathing hitched; the distorted image of a monster flashed through his mind. Pain shot through his hand as someone’s foot struck his fingers, grinding them against the cold hard tile, and Nick bit back a wince, yanking his hand back quickly. He pushed himself up from the floor, touching his hand to his mouth and pulling it back to see blood dripping down his hand, soaking into the innocent white gauze. _Fucking great._

Nick clenched his fists tightly, turning to see the other boy no longer standing next to him. His eyes scanned the hallway, seeing him a few feet away, once again scrambling to grab his papers off the floor as two kids tore through his bookbag. Nick felt anger course through his veins, and tried to push past the kid standing in front of him.

“Now wait a minute, where do you think you’re going?” the kid asked softly. Nick turned to face the boy standing in front of him, glaring down at him as the kid pushed Nick once more against the locker. He grit his teeth as the other kid’s hand touched his chest forcefully, and Nick felt the urge to smack the guy’s hand away. Nick smirked, feeling anger clawing at his chest, ripping at his flesh, begging to be released. He sucked in a breath and looked around the crowded hallway. Nick slammed his head against the locker, pressing his hand against the cool metal, hoping the solid surface would keep him from doing something stupid. He glanced at the speckled floor, watching small droplets of blood bubble on the floor next to his black converse. He took a shallow breath. _Calm down. Calm down. You’re fine._

The guy smiled deviously, and slapped Nick’s cheek gently before turning his attention towards the two guys messing with the younger boy. Nick swallowed loudly, clenching his fists harder- he wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid smile off the others face, nothing more than to destroy his cocky attitude. The guy kicked the boy’s disregarded bag from him, and instead focused his attention towards its owner. The kid was pressed against one of the lockers, his hands held down by the two henchmen that had been previously going through his bag. The kid shook his head as the guy stepped closer, pressing his hand against the locker calmly. “What did I tell you about talking to my girl, Wu?” The guy said loudly, gripping the Asian kid’s shirt collar, as the boy muttered a small “please.”

“What the fuck is your problem.” Nick whispered, raising his head slowly. He took a deep breath as his head continued to spin, and he swallowed, knowing he was about to do something stupid. The guy let go of the small boy, who smacked to the ground with a sickening thud before Wu grabbed his bag and pushed his way through the crowd quickly. The guy turned back towards Nick, letting out a small laugh as he popped his knuckles slowly. The hallway seemed to freeze now, an eerie quiet settling over the tiny corridor, and Nick could see one of the English teachers standing in a doorway down the hall, eating an apple. _Figures he wouldn’t help._ Nick turned back towards the blonde kid, who stood a few feet away, his henchmen filing in line behind him, arms crossed.

“What did you say freak?” the kid spat harshly, kicking Nick’s bag roughly across the floor. Nick watched as the contents rolled lazily from the bag, his old sketchbook sliding across the floor, coming to a sudden stop as it collided with the locker across the hall. He looked back at the kid, pushing himself away from the locker and felt his fists clench again. “I said,” Nick growled, “what the fuck is your problem.”

The corner of the kid’s mouth turned upright into an ugly smirk, and Nick felt a chill run down his spine as his vision wavered once more. A girl grasped at the boy’s arm, “Bryson, come on, he’s not worth it,” she said softly, placing her hand on his chest, trying to push him away. Bryson shrugged her off dryly, “Fuck off Adalind, I’m going to enjoy this one.”

Blood was beginning to slide down Nick’s hand as his fingernails pierced the burned flesh coating his palms. Red eyes flashed across his mind again and Nick shook his head, he needed to think. His head swam violently and he gripped the edge of the locker as black dots danced in front of him, causing him to suck in a ragged breath. His headache was beginning to spread down his neck now, and Nick wondered momentarily if he should have taken Rosalee up on her offer. He blinked a few times as the dots evaded, and Nick swallowed, relief washing over him. The small group of students began to fill the hallway and Nick could hear shouting from one of the teachers from down the hall, and he clenched his fist again, waiting for Bryson to strike. _Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Stupid kid! Stupid Grimm!_

“Tell me freak,” Bryson spat, closing the distance between him and Nick, “What does it feel like to murder someone?”

Nick cleared his throat ignoring the pain shooting down his neck, and glanced down at the blonde kid, a small smirk toying with his lips, “Why? You want to find out?”

Bryson shoved him against the locker causing Nick to lose his balance momentarily. He gripped the open door on one of the ugly green lockers and stood slowly, letting out a small laugh as his head collided once more with the metal behind him. Nick shook his head as screaming echoed through his mind and the smell of smoke filled his nostrils…

_…He lit the match, watching the flames dance wildly on the tip. His eyes clouded by the smoke that was filling the room and his ears deaf to the screams that echoed through the tiny corridor…_

Nick shook his head again, trying to clear his mind, trying to clear his vision. He looked at Bryson again, sucking in a harsh breath as red eyes greeted him and the image from his nightmare danced in front of him. He mumbled something under his breath that not even he could understand and dug his fingernails deeper into his flesh. He was pretty sure he looked insane. Fuck, he was pretty sure he was losing his damned mind. Bryson stared at him again, “I heard when they found you Burkhardt, they had to pry the axe from your hands…”

Nick snorted, wiping some of the blood that still fell down his chin, glaring at the fuzzy image of the beast standing next to Bryson. He bit his tongue, trying to hold back an angry scream, trying to focus on the words spewing from Bryson’s mouth. The monsters face glitched and Nick’s eyes widened as the image of a man, his face contorted into a wolf-like creature with piercing red eyes, filled the black space. It pointed towards Nick, blood dripping down its mouth, landing in big splashes against the tiled floor next to Nick’s sketchbook, splashing on the tan cover, staining it an ugly red. Nick pressed his hands to his head, trying to calm his breathing, trying to block out the monster looming over Bryson’s head “Leave me the fuck alone!”

Bryson took another step forward, pointing his finger in Nick’s chest, “Touch a nerve, did I? Tell me, just how psychotic are you? Did you kill your Aunt too? Or just your previous foster family?”

Nick grit his teeth, glaring at Bryson before looking back towards the space the monster had previously occupied. He wiped some sweat dripping down his face as the monster glitched again before vanishing in an angry splash of red. Nick took a deep breath, looking back down at Bryson as Nick’s head once more slammed against the metal behind him. Bryson repeated the question, turning to face the small crowd gathered in the hallway as images of Nick’s Aunt flashed across his mind. He sucked in a harsh breath, tears threatening to well in his eyes as memories rolled back to him in waves. He clenched his fists, feeling the necklace around his neck weighing him down like a brick, strangling the oxygen from his lungs, preventing anymore to flow down his throat. He glanced down at his shoes.

_…Blood; there was so much blood; he could smell it… Grimm! The knife sliced through her back harshly as she fell to the ground. Nick fell in a heaping mess in front her, pulling her close, screaming for help as blood gushed from her back like spilled paint. Tears rushed down his cheeks as she touched his face gently, her hand feeling cold and fragile against his skin…This isn’t a fairytale Nicky. You’re vulnerable now… You have to kill the bad ones… You’re vulnerable now… This isn’t a fairytale…_

“Tell me freak, how long does your current family have before you chop them up too?”

Nick looked up, his vision blurring and anger ripping through his chest, rushing to the surface, finally breaking free. Nick felt a smirk form across his face, twisting his lips into an unholy grin as his vision faded red, and pent-up rage took over.

……………………………………………………………………………

Pain was the first thing Nick registered as he stared down at the blood bubbling to the surface of his knuckles. He watched the small crimson liquid trickle from his hand, sliding down his arm, staining the now pink gauze a deeper red, and drip onto the stained floor below him. The flesh on his knuckles was busted open from force and Nick wondered momentarily how it had happened. He felt strong arms grip his shoulders, forcing him against the lockers behind him as Nick’s world spun violently. Silence filled his ears as everything around him moved at a painfully slow pace and Nick swallowed loudly.

It wasn’t until he felt something hard connect with his ribs that he knew what happened. Everything suddenly sped up and Nick winced loudly as another fist connected with his side. He looked down at the floor, watching Bryson struggling to regain his composure as the girl from earlier wiped some blood from his chin. Nick spat bloody saliva from his mouth and smirked at Bryson as his eyes washed over the swollen black eye and busted lip. He had destroyed something beautiful, and it felt good. _You’re a fucking idiot Nick._

Nick coughed again as another fist slammed against his torso, and winced as someone smashed his wrist against the locker behind him, pressing down on the burned flesh beneath his bandages. He closed his eyes, listening to the yelling from the teachers desperately trying to break through the horde of students, trying to break up the fight. He heard Bryson yelling something but tuned him out, and instead focused on his breathing as his head slammed against the locker once more.

“That’s enough!” Someone yelled loudly, causing the next blow to cease in midair. Nick pried his eyes open slowly, expecting to see one of the teachers standing with their arms crossed. Much to his surprise, the Captain of the football team and unfortunately Nick’s lab partner, stood a few feet away, his blue bookbag hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. Nick squinted, trying to clear his vision as Hank Griffin stepped forward, dropping his bag against the dirty ground. Nick coughed loudly, relief washing over him as his eyes reached Hank’s, giving him a small nod in appreciation.

“Fuck off Griffin. This doesn’t concern you,”’ Bryson spat, pushing Adalind’s hand away and inching closer towards the two guys holding Nick.

“Seeing as you’re the Quarterback, this does concern me. He’s had enough, let him go,”’ Hank said loudly, pushing past some of the students walking by the locker. Nick felt his world spin and shook his head as pain coursed through his side. He glared at Bryson, watching the shorter boy raising his fist. Nick lunged for him, causing one of the guy’s grasping his arms to dig their fingernails through the dirty gauze, piercing the healing skin with dirty nails. Nick bit back a wince as his mouth filled with metallic blood and saliva.

“Stone! I’m warning you. I’ll tell Coach the real reason you spend a few extra minutes in the locker room before each game,” Hank said, stepping forward, pressing his hand against Bryson’s shoulder. Bryson turned to face him, his fist frozen in the air, “You wouldn’t dare. You’d bring the whole team down, including yourself!”

Hank stepped closer, closing the gap between him and Bryson, “Try me.”

Bryson turned back towards Nick, an awkward smile toying with his lips, giving his face an animated look. Bryson nodded stiffly, “You heard the Captain boys… let him go.”

The pressure released from Nick’s wrists and he leaned against the locker, struggling to stand tall despite the throbbing ache coursing through his ribs. Bryson stepped forward, pressing his hand against Nick’s chest, pushing him gently against the locker, “He’s all yours Hank. The fucking psycho.”

Nick grinned, spitting bloody saliva he’d been holding in his mouth towards the shorter boy as Bryson turned away. It hit him in the chest and Bryson lunged for Nick as Hank stepped in between them, “Leave it Stone!”

Bryson glared up at Hank, violent anger gleaming in his eyes, “Just remember Burkhardt, Griffin won’t always be there to watch your back.”

Nick sighed and leaned his head against the locker, exhaustion washing over him as all adrenaline left his body. He glanced once more at the dried blood crusted on his knuckles and turned back towards his open locker, grabbing his Chemistry book from it, listening to the yammering from the student body as the crowd dispersed. He heard one of the teachers still trying to regain order in the disobedient rowdy crowd, and turned to face the packed hallway. He leaned his sweaty back against the cool metal, sucking in an unsteady breath. Monroe was going to kill him- No, Monroe was going to lecture him; Renard was going to kill him.

Nick felt someone jab him in the ribs lightly, and turned to see Hank standing next to him, Nick’s backpack hanging loosely in his hand. Nick eyed it, inspecting the ripped side, making sure his bag was still intact and useable before grabbing it from Hank’s grasp.

“Thanks,” He whispered, turning back around, slamming his locker shut.

Hank nodded, “Anytime, but next time you decide to do something stupid, make sure you have backup.”

Nick sighed, “I can hold my own.”

He grit his teeth as Hank let out a loud laugh, “Yeah, I can tell. You had Bryson exactly where you wanted him, right? Could have fooled me.”

Nick shoved his textbook in his bag harshly, throwing his bag over his shoulder, pushing past a group of giggling girls as the bell rang overhead, signaling the end of school. He ran a hand through his hair, ripping one of the bandages from his wrists, and ducked past a teacher who was currently lecturing Bryson and his two henchmen about the consequences of fighting. Nick felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Hank following him, “What?”

Hank dropped his hand, gripping the strap on his bag, “The project is due tomorrow- for Chemistry. I know you’ve been out for a few weeks, and since we’re still partners, I figured we should get together and work on it. It’s the least you owe me… for saving your ass, and lighting my textbook on fire on the first day of class.”

Nick shook his head, adjusting his bag to his other shoulder, “I can’t… I have homework.” He bit his lip as the lie left his mouth. Tonight, like most nights, he had planned on returning to the Chemistry building, hoping some new evidence would pop up, showing everyone including himself, that he hadn’t burned the building down. Showing everyone that he wasn’t crazy. He hadn’t been able to go the other night considering Renard had kept him late, scrapping the gum from the tables in the interrogation rooms. He hadn’t gone last night either because Monroe and Rosalee were bound determined to keep him in their sights. Who could blame them?

Hank eyed him, “Right…”

“Hank, I’m serious,” Nick sighed, “Look, I don’t have time for this. I’m going late for work, and besides you might want to choose a different partner… one a little more available, better at Chemistry…” _and less psychotic,_ Nick added.

Nick ran another hand through his hair and thrust his hand in his pocket roughly before making his way once more through the chaotic hallway towards the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Nick tapped his pen against the desk, watching the clock on the wall tick by slowly, and let out a loud groan. It was almost 10pm, and despite having finished sweeping the whole floor nearly 2 hours ago, Renard refused to let him leave. He smacked his head against the wooden desk, causing some papers to fall to the floor next to him with a soft whoosh. He watched as some of the papers slid across the floor, stopping in front of another officer’s desk, lazily.

“Nicholas…” Someone warned, and Nick thrust his head up to look at Renard who sat at the desk opposite to his, writing something down in a yellowed notebook. Nick groaned again and leaned back in his chair, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes, hoping to rub the exhausted boredom from them. This was the 5th night Renard had kept him here late without explanation. _He’s keeping an eye on you dumbass… Stupid kid!_

“Where are you going tonight?” Renard asked, setting his notepad gently on the desk, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Nick sat up in his chair, pulling it closer to the crowded desk, wincing as it gave a loud screech in protest, “What, I-”

“You better not be going to the school.” Renard cut him off, raising an eyebrow. He watched the kid play with the bottom of his zipper on his jacket nervously. Nick cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, “What? No, I’m not-”

Renard leaned forward in his chair, spreading some images out on his desk, “If I catch you at the school Nicholas, there will be consequences.”

“I’m not going to the school.” Nick said flatly. He glanced over at one of the images littering Renard’s desk. Most of them were blurry and dark, hard to recognize or decipher what was actually captured. “Do you want to talk about the fight?” Renard asked, rearranging some of the images, hoping to piece together a clearer picture as to what he was supposed to be looking at. The images were taken a few blocks from the school, the night of the fire- and although they were in poor condition, some of them looked promising… if he could just find what he was looking for.

Nick shook his head before realizing Renard hadn’t seen him, “No sir.”

Renard looked up briefly, giving him a stern look, before looking back down at the grainy photos once more. Nick scooted closer, waiting for Renard to tell him to back away. His chair let out another screech as he inched closer, and Nick bit his lip. He was never allowed to get closer, he was never allowed to see what Renard was working on.

He sucked in a harsh breath as Renard flipped through another batch of photos. He felt his breathing hitch, and his blood run cold as Renard settled on one image in the left-hand corner. _No! It couldn’t be! You’re imaging it! You’re going crazy! You’re losing your damned mind!_ Nick felt tears well in his eyes, and he sucked in another short breath as all the oxygen left his aching lungs. He grasped the image from Renard’s hand and held it in front of his face, trying his best to convince himself that the image was anything but what his mind perceived it to be. He heard Renard say his name, but Nick sat frozen, glued to his chair, unable to move, unable to breath.

The image was dark and fuzzy, in no condition to be able to make out a solid face or physical feature… but, that wasn’t what had captured Nick’s attention. A car had passed by the camera as light surrounded the hooded figure turning down a dark alley corner in the background. Nick swallowed hard as tears spilled over their tired rims, and he felt Renard’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him. Nick’s eyes moved from the dark figure to the shiny metal object clasped in its hand. _It can’t be. It can’t be the same one!_

_…“You’re vulnerable now Nicky. This isn’t a fairytale,” his Aunt said gently, pressing her hand to his cheeks as tears continued to stream down his young face. He looked around at the people gathering near him, clutching at his Aunt’s right hand gripped tightly in his, as blood continued to stain his clothes and the sidewalk around him. “Someone help us! Please!” he yelled, looking back down at the weak smile plastered gently across his Aunt’s face. She closed her eyes, letting her hand fall from Nick’s face as he continued to scream. He glanced once more at the crowd around him, catching the glimpse of a dark figure turning a corner, blood dripping from the polished knife clasped in its hand…_

“Nick!” Renard yelled once more, shaking the teenager’s shoulders with both hands. The kid was starting to scare him, and the fact that he seemed unresponsive, even more so. Nick shook his head, looking at Renard, tears still falling silently from his pale face, “I- I recognize this…” He whispered, letting the photo fall from his shaky hands.

Renard’s face flooded with confusion as he dropped one of his hands to pick up the photo from the ceramic floor. He glanced at Nick quickly before looking down at the photo clasped in his hand. He let out a sigh. It was a picture of a Reaper, an ancient one by the looks of it. Its scythe was visible from under it’s dark robe, it’s face a blurry image in front of the camera. It was trying to send a message. Renard had known there were a few in this side of Portland, but he hadn’t thought they would be somehow involved in the fire. He looked up at Nick to see the teenager wiping roughly at the tears that glistened against his cheeks.

“You- recognize this?” Renard asked gently, leaning back in his chair. Nick nodded, “The knife… it’s the same one that killed my… Aunt,” Nick whispered, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket and leaning back in his chair. He felt his face heat up as embarrassment suddenly crept to the surface. He hadn’t cried in front of someone in a long time. It made him feel exposed and naked… and childish.

“Do you know what it is?” Renard asked carefully. If Nick was able to identify it, then he would have to know… he’d have to know the truth of what it was, of what he was. Nick shook his head softly, looking over at the papers still strewn across the floor, abandoned. Renard let out a sigh, setting the photo down on his desk gently.

“You’re free to go Nick,” He said softly, reaching across his desk to flip the light off next to the teenager. Nick got up unsteadily, a million questions racing through his mind, but no voice to ask them.


	4. Into the Woods We Go

_“It’s hard to wake up from a nightmare if you aren’t even asleep…” -J.S._  
…………………………………………………………………………………………..

_Pain lit up his body as something sharp collided with his left knee. He screamed loudly, begging and pleading with the fuzzy images in front of him to stop. He bit his bottom lip and felt blood drip from his chin. He tried moving but it was no use, the blurry images in front of him had a strong hold on him. Something snapped and he felt the tape on his wrists beginning to break, and wondered if he would be able to make it out in time… before… before…_

_He heard someone scream his name and peered through the darkness trying to find the source. It was a girl. That much he could tell. Something sliced through his shoulder and he bit back another scream as tears slide down his face. Someone was pushing his head down now, trying to force him to move, trying to…_

_Light flickered across the room for a moment, and he gasped loudly. He could see her. He could see the girl; she was standing in the corner clutching her bear tightly to her chest. Blood splattered across her pink dress, dripping down her small face. She was crying. Was she hurt? Had they hurt her instead of him this time? Had they-_

_Water. Water gushed up his nose and into his lungs. He couldn’t see; it was too dark. But he could hear. He could hear them. Laughing. Someone thrusted his head up and he took in a huge breath. The girl screamed again, and Nick said something, hoping to get the monsters attention. Someone let go of his hair and Nick smacked into something hard, blinking water from his eyes. He heard metal colliding with concrete and then he heard her…_

Nick shivered as he pulled his jacket closer, letting his mind wander as he walked through the dark playground next to his school. The branches groaned loudly as the wind howled around him, sending leaves flying freely through the air. A crescent moon hung in the sky eerily, hiding behind gray clouds, casting horrific shadows on the ground below Nick’s feet. Nick kicked at some rocks that were littered across the playground, smirking slightly as they connected with the metal slide a few inches away.

He shivered again, pausing briefly to tie one of the laces on his shoe, glancing towards the direction of the Chemistry building and letting out a sigh. A twig snapped behind him causing Nick to tense, grasping at the flashlight buried in his pocket. He took a deep breath before turning around to the empty lot behind him. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and chills run down his spine. _Something’s out there._ Nick bit his lip as the monster from earlier crossed his mind. _No, I’m just tired. There isn’t a monster. There isn’t a monster._ He turned back toward the building a few yards in front of him, listening to the nightlife around him. He pulled the flashlight from his pocket, and pressed the button several times before it came on with a soft spark. The dim light that illuminated from the shitty flashlight clasped in his hand, did little to brighten the path ahead of him. Another crunch sounded behind him and Nick gripped the small light tighter in his hand. _You’re going crazy. Crazy kid! Sick Kid! The monster’s going to eat you! The monster’s going to get you! Poor little pathetic Grimm… you don’t even know what you are do you?_

Nick shook his head as his flashlight flickered, “Shut up…” he said softly.

“Who are you talking to?” Someone asked.

Nick let out a loud yelp, turning on his feet towards the voice, dropping his flashlight, his light flickered again and Nick sucked in a breath, “Hank! What the fuck are you doing here!”  
Hank stood a few feet away, shrugging, “Look, I might be bad at picking lab partners, but I can spot a lie when I see one. Besides I figured you would show up here eventually… it’s always like a criminal to show up to the scene of his crime.”

Nick shook his head, yanking his flashlight from the gravel, and turned back towards the building a few yards in front of him, “I didn’t do this Hank.” _Yes you did! You did! You did! Stupid Grimm!_ Images flashed across Nick’s mind…

_…Nick stood in the middle of the room, water dripping from his hair, running down his face as blood coated his clothes. He watched in terror as the small girl coward in the corner, screaming for someone to help her, to save her, to take her away from the monster. His fingers ached and Nick looked down to see blood and dirt covering them like children’s paint. He felt his knees buckle as his world collided with the harsh ground beneath him, and smoke filled the air…_

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Hank muttered, kicking at some of the loose gravel beneath his shoe. Nick blinked, clearing his mind, muttering something incoherent under his breath. He really didn’t need this right now. He was here to look for more evidence, and having Hank here was just going to slow him down. Nick came to a stop in front of the building, letting the light hang loosely in his hand, listening to Hank whistle beside him.

Wooden posts stood half-scorched and naked, leaning against melted lockers and abandoned plastic chairs; loose police tape danced freely in the wind and the smell of smoke still lingered in the air. Nick stepped closer, tripping over his laces, toppling to the ground as he sucked in a harsh breath. Despite having come here several times during the past two weeks, he still felt chills run down his spine at the sight of the abandoned building, questions racing through his mind. Did he do this? Was he capable of doing this? What actually happened that night?

His hands meshed with the warm dirt and Nick glanced up again, watching as the second story stood, barely supported by wobbly posts at the end of the wooden building. From the outside, the building looked small and crippled, despite once being two stories tall. It groaned loudly as the wind tore through one of the busted windows, blowing leaves, and pieces of scorched paper from one of the slanted lab desks. Nick’s arms burned as memories flooded back to him, and he closed his eyes trying to work out every detail. He could still feel the fire burning against his skin, still feel it biting at the palms of his hands, and he could still hear the screams echoed through the halls. He let out a loud sigh, opening his eyes, pushing himself from the ground dizzily, and started walking towards the still standing entrance.

Nick turned, shining his flashlight in Hank’s face, “Go home Hank.”

Hank shook his head, catching up to Nick’s pace, “There is no way in hell I’m going home. I’ve been out here for 3 hours. Besides, I can’t have blood on my hands if you plan on burning down the History building next.”

“Fuck you,” Nick spat, turning back towards the crumpling building. His flashlight flicked off for a second as Nick wedged through the entrance, hearing the building moan in protest as Nick touched one of the wooden posts.

“No- look- sorry… Besides, if we get caught, you’ll look less guilty if I’m here… and we can say we’re working on our science project or something.” Hank said, stepping forward. He paused briefly in the doorway, eyeing one of the unstable posts that leaned defeatedly against a pile of scrap metal.

Nick sighed, “I really don’t need a babysitter Hank.”

“You sure about that?” Nick turned to face Hank who looked down at the gauze still wound around one of his arms. He shot Hank a menacing glare before sighing again, “Fine… did you bring a flashlight?”

Hank laughed loudly, pulling a flashlight from his jacket pocket before zipping it up as the wind raged past them, “Dude, what do I look like? An amateur?”

Nick shook his head and turned his attention back towards a glass cabinet in one of the dark classrooms. The glass of the cabinet had busted open, along with several small beakers and jars with what Nick could only assume was some type of chemical. The door to the classroom was blown off the hinges, lying several feet from the opening. Nick shivered…

_…He heard creaks and groans around him as the old building was beginning to give. Something fell to his right, and Nick glanced down the hall to see a door burst open, flames gushing out…_

Nick kicked at some of the wooden ash, pushing a piece of wood away from the doorway, and pulling the caution tape from the metal hinges on one of the classrooms. His flashlight flickered again and Nick cursed as the half-standing building faded to black momentarily. Hank reached for another cabinet, opening the door carefully as some of the glass fell from the frame.

“So, do you know who they were?” Hank asked quietly.

Nick smacked his flashlight against his hand as Hank flipped his on, “What?”

“The boy and girl, Nick. Do you know who they were?”

Nick sucked in a sharp breath…

_…the boy pushed the knife towards Nick’s chest and Nick could feel the sharp tip digging its way into his burning body. “Stay away from me and Sarah,” the boy growled… The girl’s name was Sarah…_

Nick shuttered, “If I knew who they were, I would be referring to them as Jack and Jill, not boy and girl, Hank. Besides, how do you know about that?”

Hank snorted, climbing over some of the rubble, wiping his hands on his jacket, “Everyone knows about it. You’re the talk of the school Nick… hell, maybe even the town.”

Nick groaned. He should have known his conversation with the precinct therapist would get out eventually. There was a loud noise behind him, followed by something falling. Hank cursed loudly before muttering a soft “sorry.” Nick groaned again, “be more careful Hank, we don’t want to wake-”

He cut off midsentence as his light grazed over something sticking out from under one of the wooden planks littering the ground. _What the hell is that? It hadn’t been there the other night. You’re losing your mind Nick._

Nick felt another chill run down his spine, and pushed past wooden posts, scrapping his hands against the blackened metal protruding through the wood, as he made his way over towards the small object buried beneath the splintered scraps. He dropped his flashlight next to him and started digging his fingers in the ground, trying to scrape away the hardened dirt and ash that swallowed the foreign object. His breathing hitched as he yanked it from the ground, and Nick grasped the object in his hand, running his fingers across the sharp edges, tracing the letters engraved in the metal. It was a small knife, well it looked like a knife… but it wasn’t the one the boy had held. This one was different, ancient and dull. Rust had begun to cover the pointed teeth, and part of the wooden handle was splintered off, burned and broken. Nick ran his hand over the letters again, trying to find hidden meaning behind words he didn’t understand. Grimm.

He let out a shaky breath, and looked up towards the woods in front of him. The wall that had once shielded the wooded area from the classrooms view, laid a crumpling mess, strewn across the grass around it. Nick stood, peering in the black distance, gripping the flashlight tightly in his trembling hand as his vision focused to readjust to the trees a few yards in front of him. He heard Hank next to him, asking about the knife clutched in his hand, and shook his head, not really aware if that was a correct response to the question he was asked. The hair on his arms stood up and Nick shivered, pulling his jacket closer, willing his feet to move towards the thing that had captured his attention. His blood froze in his veins and his stomach turned to a block of ice as Nick closed the distance between himself and the shady forest. He felt his hand sliding the knife in his pocket, and stood at the edge of the forest, listening to the foreign sounds of creatures he couldn’t place.

The moon disappeared behind a passing cloud and Nick sucked in a breath, his heart racing, pumping blood through his veins at a deadly pace. His light flickered again before letting out a small pop, turning off completely. Nick froze as his vision readjusted and he stared into the forest before him. Wind whipped around him, causing the zipper on his jacket to smack against his stomach harshly, and Nick felt chills run down his spine. Behind him he heard Hank yelling his name, and heard him curse, dropping something, which Nick could only assume was his flashlight.

He heard rustling in front of him, twigs snapping, branches breaking as the thing that had drawn him towards the woody abyss began to move. Nick swallowed loudly, trying to stop his hands from shaking, as he peered through the mass of trees and brisk darkness, at the two red eyes staring back at him. He heard the creature laugh roughly before letting out a loud howl that caused Hank to scream. Nick flinched and watched as the eyes began to disappear deeper into the black forest. Was it the monster from his nightmares? Nick took a deep breath, letting the dead flashlight slip from his grasp before he sprinted blindingly into the shady woods.

Trees swirled past him in a multitude of grays and blacks, clawing at his face and skin as he ran madly past them, trying his best to keep up with the red eyes running away from him. Woody pines tore at his shirt and jacket, ripping the old fabric from his body, digging their pointy fingers under his skin, breaking free from their captor. Nick bit back a wince as his face collided with a branch, and Nick ran faster, his eyes searching for the creature as the red eyes disappeared from his vision.

He came to an abrupt halt, tripping over something, falling face first, his face and hands meshing against something wet, his fingers grinding into watery dirt. Water flooded his mouth for a second as he hit the ground with a loud splash, and Nick sucked in a breath, breathing in dirty water as it washed over his head. He let out a surprised yelp and scrambled to his feet, spinning around, trying to peer through the trees, trying to figure out where he was. Water soaked through his clothes and shoes, into his socks, and Nick glanced down, seeing the clear water shimmering in the dull moonlight that wafted through the naked trees. He was standing in a shallow river, water rushing past his knees, soaking the bottom of his pants. Nick shivered as he pulled himself from the river, pulling his soaked jacket closer to him as he trudged towards the direction he came.

Owls hooted loudly from one of the murky trees, and Nick cursed as the wind hit him full force, drying the water from his face and causing the already cold wet clothes to cling to his body. He stopped for a second, listening to the silent forest. He shivered again, his teeth beginning to chatter as he realized he couldn’t hear Hank yelling for him anymore. He couldn’t hear Hank. He couldn’t see the building. He didn’t know where he was. Shit. Stupid kid!

Something snapped behind him, and Nick spun around, trying to peer through the darkness, trying to find the source. “Hank?” He asked quietly, shoving his hands in his pocket, his hand grasping the splintered handle of the knife he had found earlier. Nick swallowed, stepping back slightly as two red eyes peered through the dimly lit forest. His back collided roughly with one of the trees behind him as the creature stepped forward. Nick sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening as moonlight flooded through the trees and the monster stepped forward revealing a distorted wolf-like face, one that haunted Nick’s mind every night.

Nick pressed his hands against the bark of the tree, the knife in his pocket momentarily forgotten, as he continued to stare at the creature a few inches from his face. _This isn’t real. This isn’t real. You’re going crazy. You’re having a psychotic break. This isn’t real!_ Clouds washed overhead again as the moon’s light vanished from the forest, leaving Nick to stare at the glowing red eyes fixated on him.

“I should have known. I should have known what you were, but you- you’re covered in that Blutbod’s scent- and that- that Fuchsbau’s,” The monster growled harshly, spitting at the ground, causing Nick to jump slightly, “odor!” Nick shut his eyes as leaves and twigs cracked under the creature’s foot as it moved closer. _You’re imagining this. You’re going crazy. You’re going crazy! Crazy!_

Something collided with Nick’s knee and he dropped to the ground with a loud cry as something sharp tore at his side. Light flooded the forest floor again and Nick stilled, prying his eyes open, listening for any sign of movement, waiting. Something brushed against his ear, causing the hair to stand up on the back of Nick’s neck, and a chill ran down his spine as hot breath touched his cheek.

“You stink. You reek of that Blutbod’s scent. It covers you… I should kill you, Grimm.”

Nick shivered, the wind around him tearing at the loose fabric covering his body. He grit his teeth, digging his hands into the soft dirt below him, feeling bugs crawling over the exposed flesh. _What’s a Blutbod? What’s a Grimm?_

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I-” Nick whispered, looking up to see the red eyes again, peering down at him. He peered through the pale moonlight, looking around the forest, hoping he’d see something familiar, something to see Hank.

“YES YOU DO!” The creature yelled, and Nick looked back down, digging his hands further into the leafy dirt, feeling something bite at his fingers. He bit his lip, trying to push himself off the ground, feeling the creature’s foot slam against his back. Nick coughed as all the air escaped from his lungs and tried reaching for the knife in his pocket, finding his arms uncooperative and hard to move. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t going crazy!

“I should kill you…” The creature growled. The moon disappeared behind the clouds again as the trees groaned loudly at the vicious wind whipping around them.

………………………………………………………………………………….

Nick laid there, facing the sky, letting the wind blow over him and running his hands through the leaves that littered the ground. He wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been lying there, but judging by the fact that he could no longer feel his fingers or nose, he guessed it’d been a while. He blinked a few times, staring at the stars that littered the night sky and pulled his jacket closer, trying to warm his stiff body. His shirt felt damp against his chest, and Nick wondered slightly if his clothes were still wet, or he was just too cold to feel it.

Something moved to his right, and light outlined the trees surrounding him. Nick blinked a few more times, listening to the footsteps getting closer, listening to the crunch of dry leaves. Nick turned to see a shadowy figure walking closer towards him, and grasped at the knife in his pocket.

“Nick?”

Nick released his grasp on the knife and pushed himself into a sitting position as Hank’s light rested on him. A small smile toyed with his lips as his vision readjusted to see the familiar face standing just a few feet from him. Nick nodded, before letting out a shaky breath, “Yeah?”

Hank stopped, shining his light through the dark trees before turning back towards Nick, “What are you doing out here? On the ground? You know, I’ve been looking for you for hours…”

“Oh,” Nick said, pushing himself off the ground, wiping the mud from his hands with his jeans, shivering as the air hit him full force. _I should kill you…_

“Are you- Are you okay?” Hank asked slowly, shining the light in Nick’s face, causing him to wince. Nick squinted, his eyes trying to readjust to the bright light as Hank’s eyes washed over him.

“I’m fine Hank. Look, let’s just go back, alright?” Nick pushed his hands in his pocket, touching the knife with his fingers, letting them trace over the foreign word etched into the burned wood. He pushed past Hank, his shoulder connecting with Hank’s harshly, causing him to stumble slightly. _I should kill you… for what you are…_  
Nick yawned loudly as exhaustion washed over him. He ran a hand through his hair, walking toward the direction Hank had come, hoping that it was the right way. His body ached and he felt tired… more tired than he’d ever felt. The cold feeling had returned and all Nick wanted to do was crawl into a warm bed, hopefully catching a few hours of sleep before he had to wake up.

“Nick…” Hank started.

“I’m not crazy Hank,” Nick said, feeling his body tense as he waited for the next question, “I’m not crazy. I know I didn’t do myself any favors by running off, or disappearing in the woods but I’m not-”

“No, look,” Hank said, flicking the light in Nick’s face before shining it towards a metal object in the distance, “what do you suppose is in there?”

Nick followed his gaze. Through the dim light, a metal trailer stood, abandoned and rusted, forgotten in the middle of an overgrown forest. Confusion etched across Nick’s face, his mind reeling with freshly formed questions, and he took a step towards it before something grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

“What in the hell are you doing here Nicholas!” Someone yelled. Nick groaned loudly as another light was shone in his face for the thousandth time tonight, and he bit his bottom lip, trying to peer past the florescent light, trying to see the expression on Renard’s face. Nick jerked his arm away and stumbled into Hank behind him.

“You know this guy Nick?” Hank asked quietly, shining his light at Renard.

Nick nodded, “Yes… he’s technically my boss. Hank, Renard. Renard, Hank.” Nick made an awkward gesture between them that was supposed to resemble an introduction. He bit his lip, biting back another yawn. He swallowed loudly, turning to give Renard a sheepish smile.

“Nicholas, I asked what you were doing here?” Renard said again, his light flashing between the two teenagers standing before him. He took note of the dirt that covered Nick’s face and clothes, along with the ash that had stained the bandages on his wrist, as well as Hank’s clothing.

“We’re working on a Chemistry experiment,” Hank said softly, flicking his light between Nick and Renard.

“Uh-huh,” Renard nodded, “Let’s pretend for a second that that isn’t what I think it is, and what’s happening here, isn’t happening.”

“What are you doing here?” Nick asked, running a hand through his hair. He pushed his hands once more in his pocket, forcing the knife down, hoping it wasn’t visible in the pale moonlight.

“I received an anonymous call from one of the neighbors across the street saying the arsonist was back,” Renard said, motioning for the teenagers to start walking. He smacked his hand against Nick’s shoulder harshly as the teenager kicked at some dry leaves, pulling it back a moment later, “Why are your clothes wet, Nick?”

Nick tensed, and continued walking, biting his tongue. He had no idea how to answer that question. _I should kill you… for what you are, for what you’ll become…_  
Hank yawned loudly as they reached the edge of the woods, clicking his flashlight off, “Well… it’s been a long night-”

“Let me make something very clear to the both of you,” Renard warned, pressing his hand once more to Nick’s shoulder, “If I catch you here again, I won’t let you off with a warning. Do you understand me?”

Both Nick and Hank nodded quickly. Nick stretched loudly, wincing slightly as the bruises on his ribs rubbed against the harsh damp fabric of his shirt. _If you catch us,_ Nick thought.

Red and blue flashed in the distance and Nick could see Renard’s car parked a few feet from the Chemistry building. _You’re in so much trouble._ He pulled his jacket tighter to his body, shivering as he realized the thin piece of wet fabric wouldn’t be able to help him against the violent wind. Hank slammed against his shoulder and Nick turned to face him, “I only live down the street and I rode my bike here, so I’m going to take off. You going to be alright?”

Nick glanced in Renard’s direction before nodding. Was he going to be alright? No. No, he wasn’t going to be alright.

“He’ll be fine Hank,” Renard said sternly, “I’ll drive him home.”

Nick bit his lip again. Yep, he was in so. Much. Trouble. _I should kill you… for what you are, for what you’ll become… but I won’t…._

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Nick sat at his desk, pretending to skim over the Chemistry textbook sitting in his lap, listening to the argument downstairs. A chill ran down his spine as Monroe’s voice echoed off the stairs and Nick turned towards the opened door. He was supposed to be asleep but after sitting at the top of the stairs for an hour, listening to the trio talking downstairs, he found it difficult to sleep- instead he figured he would catch up on some much-needed studying.

He heard Monroe sigh, and he placed the textbook on the desk gently, creeping towards the door, stopping softly when the floorboard creaked loudly.

“I- I just, we can’t keep doing this Sean,” Monroe said softly.

“Monroe, honey, what do you suppose we do? We can’t send him back-” Rosalee started.

Nick winced sliding down until his right side was pressed against the doorframe. He looked down and started picking at a few splinters from his left hand. He hadn’t noticed them until he was in the back of Renard’s car, mulling over what he was planning on using as an excuse for being brought home at 4am in the back of a police car…

_Nick kicked at some of the rocks that were scattered across the paved pathway towards Monroe’s front door. The wind around him had picked up, and some rain had begun to fall overhead, littering the ground with fat wet drops. Most of the drive had been a daze, mainly because Renard hadn’t said a word, and Nick sat silent in the backseat fighting to keep his eyes open as the night’s event played over again in his head._

_Nick sighed loudly, pulling his damp jacket closer as Renard rang the doorbell once more, cursing under his breath. He turned slightly to eye Nick, standing a few feet away, kicking some rocks gently with the tip of his shoe. He smirked, turning back towards the door and knocked loudly. Despite knocking and ringing the bell several times, the couple failed to answer._

_Renard sighed again, running a hand through his hair, wondering what to do if neither Monroe or Rosalee answered, when the door opened gently._

_“Sean?” Monroe yawned, running a hand over his face, “What are you doing here? It’s 4am.” Confusion had etched across Monroe’s face before Renard yanked Nick in front of him harshly._

_The teenager stood sheepishly, giving a small wave before glancing once more at his dirty sneakers. He bit his lip and winced as he heard Monroe sigh, “really?”_

“That’s not what I meant,” Monroe sighed. Nick could hear something heavy slam against the table and jumped, nearly falling down the stairs in surprise. He stood on shaky legs, listening to a soft “sorry” from Renard.

“Sean, Nick needs professional help, or something. He got into another fight today, and if he gets suspended again, the principle said he’ll be expelled. I don’t think Rosalee and I can help him if he doesn’t get the help he needs…” Monroe paused, and Nick could feel tears welling in his eyes. He wasn’t crazy. Was there something wrong with him? Maybe. But he wasn’t crazy. _They’re going to send you away… just like your last family… just like the Johnsons. You deserve to be locked up, after what you did to them…_

Nick closed the door softly, pressing his head against the cool thin wood. He closed his eyes, letting out a few steady breaths. His whole body was shaking but whether it was from exhaustion or the thought of being abandoned again, Nick didn’t know. He didn’t want to leave. Monroe and Rosalee were actually normal, they made him feel normal… for once. It was nice here. He sighed loudly, and swallowed, scrubbing at the tears that threatened to spill from their tired rims.

“Have you seen his sketchbook Sean?” Rosalee asked. Nick forced his eyes open, flinging his head in the direction of his bookbag. His sketchbook! Had he picked it up earlier? Nick pushed himself away from the door, and stumbled towards his bag, dropping to his knees harshly as his hands tore through the old bag. He threw books haphazardly from the bag, wincing as they landed with another loud thump. Papers landed in a crumpled mess besides his bed, and Nick found his hands shaking even harder as his thoughts raced violently.  
_Where was it? Where was it? You picked it up, right? You picked it up, right stupid kid? You stupid GRIMM!_ Nick turned the bag upside down, shaking it violently, watching as pens and pencils rushed out of it, rolling across the floor chaotically. _No. No. No! NO! It wasn’t here!_ Nick ran his hands over the mess of binders and books, still searching, still hoping. He grasped the bent Chemistry notebook in his hands, crushing the fragile loose-leaf paper in his hands. _You lost it. Now everyone will know. Everyone will know what you see!_

Nick felt tears rushing down his face as pent up anger bubbled to the surface. He grit his teeth, and looked down at the damaged notebook in his hands. He gripped it again, flinging it across the room, watching it collide with an old photograph hanging on the wall, before crashing to the ground, torn pages flying from the ugly book. He leaned his head against the bed, running a hand through his hair and stared at the wooden ceiling above him as tears slid silently down his face.

He wanted to scream. Hell, he wanted to break something. If anything, he wanted to break himself. _I should kill you… for what you are, for what you’ll become… but I won’t… because something worse will come for you one day._

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

One of the clocks on the wall dinged loudly and Renard directed his attention towards it. It was 5:00am now. His shift ended an hour ago, and all he wanted to do was sleep. The rain outside was beginning to beat down harder, and Renard wondered if he’d left the windows open earlier. He sighed loudly, running a tired hand through his hair and turned back towards Monroe who stood, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed loosely across his chest. Rosalee sat at the table next to Renard, a cup of tea clutched in her hands.

“Monroe, honey, what do you suppose we do? We can’t send him back,” Rosalee said softly.

Monroe nodded gently, “That’s- that’s not what I meant…”

Renard stood up slowly, reaching for his cap, knocking over his abandoned cup of coffee in the process. He jumped slightly, watching the brown liquid spill slowly across the table lazily, and cleared his throat, “Sorry.” He reached for some of the napkins Rosalee held out for him, stifling a yawn. He’d spent the whole night at the precinct going over some of the evidence from the fire, and trying to identify the Reaper currently residing in Portland, when he received a call from an elderly couple across the street from the school. He had no doubt in his mind that it was Nick, after all the kid had been rather jumpy when questioned about returning to the scene.

He leaned back in his chair again, tuning in whatever Monroe had been saying, and folded his arms loosely across his chest. Rosalee grasped again at the teacup in her hands, the green liquid sat cold and abandoned, and she bit her lip, glancing up slightly. She leaned forward softly, “Have you seen his sketchbook Sean?”

Renard cleared his throat, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes dancing between Monroe and Rosalee, confusion masking his tired features. He shook his head, rubbing his hands together.

“It’s filled with these drawings,” Rosalee paused for a second as something crashed upstairs. All three glanced toward the ceiling as Monroe sighed. Renard yawned again, forcing his tired body to stand, and ran a hand through his hair, “Monroe, Rosalee… about Nick…”

Monroe walked over, taking a seat next to Rosalee, placing his cardigan over her shoulders and took a sip from his tea. Renard glanced at the clock again as the question of whether he was going to get some sleep before his shift in the next few hours weighed heavy in his mind. He glanced back towards the couple in front of him and took a seat once more, deciding it was better they knew rather than getting some much-needed sleep. Renard still wasn’t a hundred percent sure the kid was a Grimm considering he hadn't seen anyone woge in front of the kid yet; but with all the weird things happening in Portland right now, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure about anything anymore. He had to admit the kid was beyond weird, and he wanted to keep his hunch to himself until he had further proof or reason to involve Monroe or Rosalee… but now… especially if a Reaper was in town…

He sighed loudly, clearing his throat again and looked up toward the ceiling, “… about Nick… I think we need to talk…”


End file.
